Chapter Text
When Crowley was feeding the ducks with Aziraphale, everything felt almost right. Watching the antics in the pond and listening to the cheerful quacks always made him smile. And holding Aziraphale’s hand while they talked made it almost possible to pretend that nothing bad had ever happened.
Except that even here, when he was pretty happy, he still struggled. His hand quaked as he fumbled with the duck food, scattering half of it across his lap. Just moving hurt, sharp pains all through his hands. And then there was his head, the constant ache and the ringing in his ears.
He managed to toss the remainder of the food to the ducks and then brushed grain off his lap, sighing. “Nnnh, I’m really shaky today.”
“You are, but it’s okay.” Aziraphale squeezed his other hand and gave a reassuring smile. “There are worse things than a bit of spilled duck food.”
That was definitely true, but the worse things—torture and captivity and permanent damage to his body, True Form, and mind—were why they had spilled duck food now.
Crowley pushed away the dark thought and focused on the happy group of ducks. Ducks had no worries, especially not now that the weather was warming up a little bit. Fewer clouds, less rain, more sunshine. Almost spring.
The thought of spring made Crowley’s stomach ache. Usually, he’d be hard at work in the garden. Weeding, amending the soil, pruning, planning what flowers he wanted to add this year.
But although he’d always had aches, his pain now was different. If he did too much in one day, he’d wind up completely incapacitated by either that or the crushing fatigue. He was trying so, so hard to do normal things again, but it was almost impossible to manage.
“I was thinking we might wander over to the raised beds today, if you feel up to it,” Aziraphale said, gazing off towards the section of the garden that their friends had repaired. “And perhaps I could toss a few miracles about, revive more areas. Anathema’s spell will start working on whatever I can’t fully regenerate.”
Most of their garden was still dead thanks to the same bastards who had captured them. But last week, Anathema had put a charm on their garden that made stuff grow fast. “Are you sure you’re up to it? You look really tired.”
“Oh, I think I can do a bit extra. It’s been so nice just sitting here.” Closing his eyes, Aziraphale tilted his head back. He looked gorgeous, the sunlight glowing on his light curls. “I enjoy these moments so much.”
“Me too.” And moments like this—where they just hung out and relaxed—were all the more important as they started trying to be more active.
It was so hard to measure and judge, though. To know how much time they could spend doing something without it being too much. Everything in their lives was trial and error now, with way too damn much error.
“We should probably do that now, if we’re gonna,” Crowley said. He tried to figure out how much that would drain him, and whether it would throw off the other stuff they’d talked about doing. Not just today, but tomorrow. “And… not stay too long.”
It hurt to even say that. He wanted to stay out here all day, even with the chill in the air. But if he overdid it now, he might not be able to sort through the books and stuff later. If he really overdid it, they might not even be able to have Tracy over to visit tomorrow like he wanted. Should probably ask her, come to think of it.
“We’ll keep it brief.” Aziraphale took his arm and helped him up, then slid his grip to Crowley’s hand. “Okay?”
Crowley grunted in response, breathless. He still got winded so easily, and that made it even harder to talk than his broken brain already did.
The breeze picked up again as they walked past the rose bushes, and he gazed at his flowers with longing. Really wanted to get Aziraphale a whole bouquet of those, but cutting flowers from something with thorns would take way more energy than getting different flowers. And right now, he didn’t have the energy to spare.
And then they were in a new part of the garden. New? But why was it new? It was his garden, he should recognize it, why did it look so different?
His breaths sped up, and Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “It’s okay, Crowley,” he murmured, reassuring. “It’s just the new raised garden beds from our friends. Don’t fret.”
Looking at them still made his head hurt, and he rubbed his temple. “Okay, yeah. Remember now. I just… got confused for a minute.”
“That’s okay. It’s hard for your brain to keep up with changes, but I’m here.” Aziraphale smiled at him, the kind of smile that had always made Crowley melt. “I’ll help you.”
“And as long as I have help, I can handle anything.” It still didn’t always feel true, but saying it made him feel better.
He touched the radish leaves, pushing them up to check for a red dome. None yet, but these were growing ridiculously fast. Must be Anathema’s charm again.
Unfortunately, that also seemed to apply to the weeds. Crowley grasped a green thingy that was definitely not a radish and tugged it loose, hissing as pain shot through his hand. He wasn’t really up for weeding, but it needed to be done.
“Oh dear, are those weeds?” Aziraphale asked, still holding his other hand. “Do you want me to just miracle them away?”
“Nuh.” Doing it by hand hurt, and the discomfort was spreading up his whole arm now. But this was satisfying, too. “Lemme just get these ones.”
“Crowley, I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” Aziraphale caught his hand, and Crowley hissed at him. “Come now, don’t get upset. I just don’t want you to be in pain.”
Crowley rolled his eyes. “I’m always in pain.”
“I know. But I’d like to avoid you being in even more pain.” Aziraphale tugged him away from the garden bed while Crowley glared at him. “Here, why don’t I revive some plants over here, and then we can walk a different route back to the cottage?”
“You’re just trying to distract me,” Crowley grumbled, resentment brimming. It wasn’t bloody fair.
A wince pulled at Aziraphale’s features, but he didn’t reply. Instead he widened his eyes theatrically and waved his free hand. “Whoosh! Oooh, what’s that? Look, wily old daffodils and tulips popping up everywhere!”
Aziraphale plucked one of the red tulips and drew it from behind Crowley’s ear with a dramatic gasp. Crowley kept glaring at him, and the angel wilted. He let out a heavy sigh, staring down at his tulip.
Guilt rising, Crowley leaned to kiss Aziraphale’s cheek. “Sorry, Aziraphale. Love you, and I love the flowers. I’m just frustrated n’ cranky.”
“I love you too, dearest. Even when you’re frustrated and cranky. And I’m sorry too, if I made you feel worse.” Aziraphale gave another sigh, then sidled closer to him and wiggled the tulip. “Will picking a few of these cheer you up?”
“Honestly? I don’t think I can bend over.” A wave of self-loathing crashed over him at the admission. Should toughen up, especially when he was the one making Aziraphale sad.
But the angel beamed and led him forward. “Not to fret, my dear. I have something else here you can reach. Now you don’t see it…” A dramatic gesture at a bush that was extremely dead. “Now you do!”
Fresh leaves and brilliant red flowers burst out, and Crowley managed a weak laugh. “That’s not how the saying usually goes.”
“Well, it is now.” Aziraphale wrapped an arm around him, expression full of anxiety. “Is the rhododendron okay? If there’s something else you’d rather I revived…”
“Nuh, this is good. Thanks.” Crowley fumbled with the clippers he’d crammed in his pocket, then hesitated and glanced to Aziraphale. “My hands are really unsteady. Can you help me?”
“Of course, dearest.” Aziraphale helped him cut a couple flowers, then steadied his hand again as the clippers nearly slipped from his grasp. “Oh, careful. I think you need to sit back down, hmm?”
“Yeah.” He really didn’t want to, but it was necessary. He leaned against Aziraphale as they slowly made their way back to the house, vaguely queasy. “I dunno why I’m so tired. I’ve been sleeping a little better and everything.”
Aziraphale made a soft, pained noise. “That’s nowhere near enough to make up for the sheer amount of sleep deprivation you’ve experienced lately, I’m afraid. And it’s not as though all your sleep has been entirely peaceful.”
That was true, and it was really annoying. He wasn’t waking up from every nap screaming now, and it helped to be able to talk to Aziraphale about the dreams. But the nightmares still made it hard for him to get enough solid rest. And then there was the pain, which often interrupted his sleep too.
At least they’d managed the walk today. Yesterday, he’d been too tired. But seeing his flowers and plants made him happier, made him feel more like himself even with the grief of not being able to do stuff with them.
Aziraphale helped him to the door and paused, looking down. “Oh, I forgot that we got a package! I think it’s a present for you, my dear.”
“Yeah?” Crowley almost bent to pick it up, then realized how absolutely horrible of an idea that would be. He couldn’t even bend down to get flowers most of the time, let alone something that might be heavy. “Wish I had something for you.”
“You have rhododendron blossoms for me, my dear.” Aziraphale bent and grabbed the package, and Crowley clenched his jaw. It was unfairly easy for Aziraphale to do stuff like that. “Now, let’s get inside. Is the sofa okay?”
“Yeah. I want my present.” Although he was definitely gonna need to just hang out and rest soon.
“I hope you like it.” Now Aziraphale was fretting again, anxiously fussing with the tape on the package. He helped Crowley sit, then held it out. “Would you like me to cut the tape?”
No. Crowley really wanted to do it himself. But that was asking for trouble with this much shakiness, so he nodded.
Aziraphale opened the box, then hesitated and swallowed hard. He fussed a bit more, flipping the box flaps back and forth. “Well. I know you have, um… you have all of this already. But I don’t know where any of it is, so I bought more.”
Hands shaking, he held out the box. Crowley took it and set it on his lap. It wasn’t too heavy, no more so than any of the books. He pushed the flaps out of the way and pulled out… a book.
Spiral bound, though. He flipped it open and examined it. He knew what it was for, but what the fuck was it called?
“It’s… it’s a sketchbook,” Aziraphale said when Crowley didn’t react, voice brimming with anxiety. “I think it’s the same brand you used to get. I though, well, you might enjoy drawing again.”
“Sorry, yeah. I just couldn’t remember what it was called. Sketchbook.” Swallowing hard, Crowley opened it. Blank paper, each sheet heavy enough to hold up well. “Gosh. It feels like ages since I thought about making anything.”
“We made cake. And you’ve made up lovely stories.” Aziraphale tucked Crowley’s black duck plush into the crook of his arm. “There’s pencils in there too for you. Faber Castell.”
That brand sounded familiar, and right. Crowley pulled out the pencils, an assortment of them in a metal tin. He grinned at Aziraphale, and the outright panic on the angel’s face eased. “It’s terrific, thanks! Dunno how good I’ll be now, though.”
His hands were a big enough problem. But more than that, what if the past of his brain that created stuff had gotten completely fucked up? What if he just couldn’t do it anymore? What if he’d lost that whole part of himself, like he’d already lost so much?
“Oh, I don’t think that focusing on ‘good’ is, well… a good idea to start,” Aziraphale said kindly. “But perhaps drawing will be helpful anyway. It might be a decent way for you to exercise your fine motor skills and such.”
“Guess that makes sense.” Writing notes for himself had gotten easier over time. Maybe drawing could help too, if he could figure out what he wanted to draw. “Maybe I could draw our ducks.”
At that, Aziraphale’s expression brightened. “Oh, that would be lovely! And I could get you some colored pencils, too. Or even watercolor. I-I know you had all of that too, but…”
“One thing at a time, angel.” Cheered up, Crowley patted the sketchbook. “Thanks. I think this’ll be fun, even if it’s hard at first.”
“Oh, I’m glad. I know how bored you’ve been getting with…” Aziraphale gestured vaguely around the living room. Their lives had been so restricted lately, confined to a few rooms and a handful of activities.
Crowley flipped the sketchbook open, trailing his fingers across the paper. It was definitely a nice weight, not too flimsy. Which was good considering how shit he was at telling how much pressure he was using on stuff. If it had been bad paper, he might have accidentally stabbed right through it.
Hands shaking, he opened the tin and checked out the pencils. They were already sharpened, thank fuck, but which of the eight should he pick? “What did I used to draw with?”
“Oh, um… Hmm.” Aziraphale slid closer, wrapping an arm around him. “Why don’t you start with the 4B, there? You liked your darker pencils.”
“Okay.” He was pretty sure he’d used more than just one pencil during his drawing phases, switching between some for details and others for shadows and stuff. But that would be way too much for his brain to handle right now. “I should, er. Keep it simple.”
His brain was already getting kinda overloaded, head throbbing as he tried to focus, to remember. He stuck his black duck on the coffee table and stared at it, then shifted the pencil around in his hand.
How was he supposed to hold this? Nothing felt right, as if he’d never touched a pencil before. He could hardly feel it in his hand, the light wood not really registering. And what if he held it too tight and snapped it in half? Couldn’t really tell how hard he was gripping.
“Crowley, why don’t you just hold it like you hold your pen for now?” Aziraphale murmured, touching the back of his hand. “Simple, remember?”
“Right.” Maybe it was a bad idea to even try to draw his duck at first. Definitely a bad idea to try to do anything realistic.
He shifted to hold the pencil like it was his cool pen and drew a straight line. Or tried to. The lead caught and dragged on the paper as his hand shook, leaving a jagged mark that kept wandering off from side to side. Shit. He sucked at this.
“It’s okay.” Aziraphale’s arm tightened around his shoulders. “Remember, this is brand new for your brain now. All that matter is that you’re doing it. Don’t worry about anything other than that.”
Crowley drew another line under the first. This one came out darker, especially towards the end. That meant… something important. Pressure? Did that mean he was using a lot of pressure?
He drew another line, and this one came out even darker. But it was smoother, too. Straighter. Only jerked off at a different angle once, and he’d managed to even it back out by the end.
How did he get less pressure? Unsure, he lifted his hand up a little and tried again. But with less pressure, the pencil wandered all over the place in a wavy disaster. “That’ll be great if I’m drawing the fucking ocean,” he said, trying to make it a joke.
Aziraphale chuckled and patted his arm. “Actually, this collection of lines rather reminds me of tree bark.”
“Okay, so I can’t draw a straight line, but I can draw tree bark.” The whole thing felt vaguely ridiculous, and Crowley grinned. He was shit at this, but it was fun. And he was doing something new. “M’ gonna try another harder line, see if I can figure out this pressure thing.”
His hand was already aching, pain shooting up his wrist all the way to his elbow. But he did it anyway, trying to press harder. And like last time he pressed harder, the line came out straighter.
“That’s interesting,” Aziraphale murmured, studying his lines. “It’s easier for you to control with more pressure, hmm?”
“Yeah, but it makes my hand hurt.” Wincing, Crowley put the pencil down and flexed it. “Guess it’s because it’s new, huh? I don’t wanna stop yet, though.”
Concern flickered across Aziraphale’s face, but he nodded. “If you’re sure. Why don’t you try a circle or something?”
That was not gonna go well; he could already tell. But he did it anyway, pressing hard so he could control the pencil better. It jerked around again, leaving sharp angles and weird wobbles in the circle. “Tree trunk chopped in half.”
Aziraphale was really relaxing now, probably happy that Crowley wasn’t freaking out about failing so bad. “It does rather look like the end of a log, doesn’t it? But look, you managed to join the two ends! That’s a very good thing.”
“Biggest accomplishment ever,” Crowley deadpanned. His arm was starting to really hurt, so he tried a circle with less pressure. It turned out way more fucked up, not anywhere close to round or even. “Look, angel. I drew an amoeba.”
That drew a laugh from Aziraphale, and he leaned to kiss Crowley’s cheek. “And it’s a very nice amoeba. Just try to remember that all this will get easier, hmm?”
“It had better. I wanna be able to draw things that aren’t tree trunks or amoebas.” With how much his hand already hurt, he should probably stop for now. Ease into it, like he had with doing exercises with the stress ball. “Do you wanna draw something?”
He held out the sketchbook to Aziraphale. It would be good for both of them to do more.
But Aziraphale looked hesitant as he took it. “Oh, are you sure? Creative endeavors were always rather more your field of expertise.”
Typical. Crowley pursed his lips and mustered a glare even though he was getting way too tired to think straight. “I can draw tree trunks and amoeba. M’ pretty sure you can do better. Besides, didn’t you just say we shouldn’t worry about it being good?”
That made Aziraphale chuckle, and he nodded. “Well, I can hardly argue with myself.”
As if he didn’t do that constantly, going around and around in endless circles about everything. Bringing that up probably wouldn’t help his anxiety, though, so Crowley just snuggled against his side. “What’re you gonna draw?”
“Oh, goodness. I don’t know.” Aziraphale eyed the pencil in his hand, then exchanged it for one of the lighter ones. “Maybe a nice flower.”
Crowley jerked his chin towards the flowers accumulating on the table near the window. “How about your camellia blossom?”
“That would be pretty. Now, let’s see…” Aziraphale’s hand was shaking almost as much as Crowley’s hand. Gosh, they were both still really fucked up.
“S’ all right,” Crowley said, brushing his lips to Aziraphale’s shoulder. “If you can bake cake, you can definitely sketch a flower.”
Aziraphale gave a faint, vaguely nervous laugh. “Cakes have directions.”
But he finally touched pencil to paper, drawing shaky uncertain petals. Crowley smiled, snuggling closer. “S’ good for us to do more.”
“Yes, I suppose it is. A bit anxiety inducing, though.” With a sigh, Aziraphale added a squiggly sort of center, then a leaf and stem. The whole thing looked kinda awkward, but it was still a drawing. “Well! That could have gone worse.”
“Definitely could have gone worse. It’s cute.” Head pounding, Crowley closed his eyes. It seemed unreasonably hard work to do new stuff, even stuff he wanted to do.
“Oh…” Aziraphale combed fingers through his hair, slow and gentle, and brushed a kiss to his head. “You’re so tired. Perhaps I should have waited on this until later.”
“Wanted my damn present.” And doing something he used to enjoy had given him an idea for a present for Aziraphale, too, although that would have to wait until later, until he was up to looking for a good one. “Really do need to rest. Gonna… uh. Hrgk.”
Shit. He’d had an idea of what he wanted to do next, but it was gone now. Instead of trying to figure it out, he just sank down and laid his head in Aziraphale’s lap.
“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale settled a gentle hand on his head. Not even stroking his hair, just touching him very tenderly. “Oh, you do need rest. What about some music?”
Music sounded good—possibly even what he’d wanted to do—but he didn’t want to try picking something. “Mm.”
Aziraphale let out a soft sigh at the vague response. “Mozart?”
Crowley shrugged. That wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but it would work. Mostly, he just needed something to keep what was left of his brain vaguely occupied while he laid here and tried to recover from doing stuff.
When he didn’t respond, Aziraphale started the music. Soft piano floated through the air, one of the albums they listened to a lot when he was too worn out for anything else.
And he was definitely too worn out for anything else right now, crashing fast into a heavy fatigue. He closed his eyes and let the fog roll in.
---
Vague guilt gnawed at Aziraphale’s tummy. It was silly to feel so guilty, really, and perhaps being able to recognize that silliness was a good sign. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop the feelings.
It was simply so difficult to estimate what Crowley could handle. He’d woken up with a fair bit of energy today despite a handful of nightmares, and had been so excited to go outside again.
But had they overdone it? Should Aziraphale have insisted that they go inside sooner?
That could have easily caused even more of an upset, though. He already felt guilty enough about that, too. Crowley so badly wanted to do things, to resume his old activities, but it was just so difficult.
Sighing, Aziraphale gazed at their latest collection of flowers. It was so nice to see so many again, although the absence of roses made him rather sad. Crowley had always loved bringing roses inside.
Really ought to get him a nice sturdy pair of garden gloves. There had to be some pairs out in the garden shed, but Aziraphale had no idea of its condition aside from “damaged”. Easier to just get Crowley a new pair for now, perhaps some in his favorite colors.
Aziraphale let his eyes close, let himself drift for a bit. He was awfully tired himself of late, sometimes so much so that it was difficult not to doze off. But leaving Crowley alone for any length of time terrified him, even if Crowley was asleep too. So, so many horrible things could happen.
Especially if Crowley’s nightmares worsened again. They were still present, but much less severe now that he wasn’t constantly agonizing over his desire to tell Aziraphale about what Lucifer had done to him. The troubles weren’t gone now, even though he could discuss it, but some of the pressure was off.
But still, Aziraphale tensed every time Crowley fell asleep. It was as if he was constantly waiting for something to go wrong, waiting for the next eruption of frantic screaming, of distress, of conviction that Lucifer was here.
Perhaps he was always waiting for something to go wrong, not just when Crowley slept. Even now, resting comfortably, he couldn’t fully let himself relax. Couldn’t stop monitoring Crowley’s breaths, listening for intruders, tensing in preparation for the next crisis.
The crisis never came. Crowley eventually rolled over with a groan and patted Aziraphale’s belly. “Dozed off for a while. You all right?”
“I’m fine,” Aziraphale forced himself to say despite the sudden tightness in his throat, the sense of shaky weakness. “You slept okay?”
“Yeah, although dunno if it totally counts as sleeping. I wasn’t all the way out, just…” Crowley gave a little shrug. He laid back against Aziraphale’s thigh, closing his eyes again. “M’ so fucking tired.”
The tightness spread to Aziraphale’s chest. He took a few breaths to clear it, settling his hand on Crowley’s chest. “I know you are, dearest. I’m a bit tired myself.”
“Worried about you.” Crowley didn’t open his eyes, but he fumbled for Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale caught his hand, squeezed. “You’ve been really wiped out lately. Should try to rest more too.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m fine, really.” Besides, he didn’t have time to rest. He needed to take care of Crowley, to fix their home up, to make sure that every problem was taken care of. “And besides, there’s no real reason for me to be tired.”
“Not fine. And plenty of reason.” And now Crowley’s eyes did crack open, just a little. “Been taking better care of yourself, but you gotta keep working on that. Be nicer to yourself.”
Aziraphale gently tapped the end of his nose. “I hardly need a lecture about that from you, my dear.”
Crowley’s frown deepened. “Nuh, both need lectures from each other. Helps both of us.”
The annoyance in his voice made Aziraphale smile. They did often make rather more headway in their own struggles while trying to tackle the other’s troublesome thoughts. “Yes, I suppose it does. But truly, I don’t have time to rest more. There’s so very much I need to do. I ought to be working significantly harder than I am.”
“Bullshit,” Crowley said bluntly.
Aziraphale sighed, brushing hair off Crowley’s brow. There was no point in arguing with him when he got like this. “Would you like to watch some Golden Girls?”
The intense irritation on Crowley’s face somehow grew even more intense. “You’re trying to distract me again.”
“Mm, perhaps.” Aziraphale tried to mimic Crowley’s tempting side-to-side sway and mostly succeeded at making himself a tad dizzy. Perhaps there was something to the idea that he needed to rest more. “Still. Would you like to watch some Golden Girls?”
“You know I do,” Crowley snapped, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes now. “S’ why you suggested it, you bastard.”
“Me? I’m an angel! I would hardly stoop to such low tactics!” Aziraphale covered his heart with one hand and put on his most shocked expression. A little smile tugged at Crowley’s face. “Now, which episode? Shall we pick up where we left off, or go for one of our favorites?”
Crowley stared right at him, unblinking and unyielding. “We should watch the one where Dorothy is sick and they talk about how important it is for her to rest when she needs to.”
“Crowley!” With a huff, Aziraphale set the remote back down. “Do stop that. Dorothy’s situation isn’t even the slightest bit like mine. Much more like yours. She has a chronic illness, so yes, it’s important for her to rest. Whereas I just…”
“Whereas you were tortured for three fucking months, almost lost your husband a bunch of times, and are still… hrgk. Uh.” Crowley hissed with irritation as the words failed him, pressing a hand to his temple.
“Oh, oh, Crowley. Hush, now.” Chest even tighter now, Aziraphale compulsively petted his hair, stroked his face. “Hush now, don’t get upset. It’s okay. It’s all okay. I’ll rest, I promise.”
“Sorry.” Crowley took a few deep breaths, still pressing to his temple. “Got worked up. But s’ all part of my point. Dealing with me is all stress.”
“That’s not true at all!” Aziraphale immediately protested, indignant at the thought. “I adore you, dearest. There’s stress, yes, but… You’re my entire world, Crowley!”
Sudden tears escaped at that, just a few. He quickly wiped them away, sniffling. Oh, he was being so silly.
“Shit.” Groaning, Crowley struggled into a seated position and wrapped him in a gentle hug. “Shh, s’ okay. I know, angel. I just meant… you take care of me. I need a lot of help. You’ve been overdoing it too, for a long time.”
Exhausted, Aziraphale hugged him close. He pressed his face into Crowley’s neck, inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm himself. “I suppose… there is some truth to that.”
“‘Course there is.” Crowley rubbed his back, the motion clumsy. “Just cuz you’re not fucked up the same way as me doesn’t mean you aren’t fucked up.”
Aziraphale managed a faint laugh. “Thank you, that’s very helpful. I do believed I admitted to that some time ago.”
“Did, yeah. But you still don’t really think about…” With another groan, Crowley went almost limp. Out of energy again.
“I know. I’m not very good at being gentle with myself.” Because he had absolutely no reason or excuse for being this fatigued or anxious. He wasn’t dealing with constant pain or nightmares or with having a brain that had been repeatedly smashed to bits. Crowley needed the help, not him. “I’ll try harder, hmm?”
“Pretty much opposite of my point. My point is…” Crowley pushed back, but didn’t fully disentangle. He turned enough that he could see the telly, remaining snuggled against Aziraphale’s side. “Point is, just hang out and relax. Stop trying to fix all our problems at once.”
Aziraphale wasn’t entirely certain he was capable of that anymore. It felt like life solely consisted of trying to fix problems, preferably before they happened. “Well, I suppose I can try to take a break from fixing all our problems at once, at least.”
“Should. And…” Crowley hesitated, tugging his duck closer and hugging it with unmistakable anxiety. “Can we have Tracy over tomorrow, if she’s free? I really wanna see her. And it’d be good for you to have… y’know. Someone to make us tea and stuff.”
Oh dear. Having Tracy over was sometimes a break of sorts, and it had become more comfortable to have her here. But during her last visit, Crowley had gotten extremely agitated and upset with her for looking at his plants. There was no way to tell whether a visit would be calming or stressful now.
“We can,” Aziraphale said softly. “Are you nervous about seeing her?”
Crowley hesitated again, then nodded. “Wanna have her over, but I keep worrying that she’ll be mad at me. Or scared of me.”
“I’m sure she’s not either of those things. She cares about both of us a great deal, dearest.” Aziraphale pressed a slow kiss to Crowley’s head. “I’ll text her in a bit, hmm? What episode of Golden Girls did you really want to watch?”
Crowley’s beautiful eyes slid to him, still anxious. “Nuh, I… I really wanna watch the one where Dorothy’s sick. Good reminder for me, too. About pacing myself and everything.”
Aziraphale’s heart wrenched. Life had been so hard for Crowley, and learning to cope with his limitations constantly frustrated him. “Well, then. We’ll watch it together.”